Blindsided
by Elizabeth Collins
Summary: Based on the story of Tristan & Iseult. A queen married to a king, but in love with his nephew. OCs. Mostly in the king's POV.  Written for the February Challenge at TPE.


A/N: Present in italics. For lack of confusion, there is the present of 302 H.E. and the present of 303 H.E. That is why in both years some parts are italicized. Lyrics to _The Lady of Shalott _by Alfred Lord Tennyson. The bit about the hawk at the end was from _The Sword in the Stone_, by T.H. White.

* * *

><p>"...For the agony, I'd rather know<p>

'Cause blinded, I am blindsided..."

-_Blindsided_, Bon Iver

* * *

><p><em>Tyra, Tyra<em>

_In the fifteenth year of the reign of King Farad II_

_302 H.E._

_"... And by the moon the reaper weary,_

_Piling sheaves in uplands airy,_

_Listening, whispers, 'Tis the fairy,_

_The –"_

_Her sweet, high voice echoed and drifted along the stone walls of her corridor. I knew she was embroidering; she sang while she completed tasks. Unfurling a scroll, I tried to concentrate on the clear letters, but her voice was ringing in my mind._

_"...Lady of Shallott."_

_"Stop it this instant!" I pushed open the heavy door, raising my hands up in anger. Sun filtered through the window and I only caught a glimpse of her trembling face. "Go!" My voice boomed in contrast to hers, and the woman flinched. She meekly set off to her chamber, never turning back toward me. Her half-spun thread lay abandoned on the floor. I stood in a guarded stance until her steps receded down the hallway, and sighed in relief. Quickly I turned the opposite way to the library, where quiet would reign until I was notified for the evening meal. _

_When I arrived running, no one was present, save for one noble milling in the Histories section. Looking around and making sure he didn't notice me, I swiftly climbed to the next level and sank into a white leather chair by the window (Sometimes sheer politics drew others' eyes to a person of importance). The paleness of it all blinded me, and the sun again obscured my view in hexagonal shapes of light. Shaking my head, I leapt to choose a thick, paper-bound book, but I did not bother to occupy myself with it. Haphazardly leafing through its pages, I let my eyes focus on the too-blue sky and thought about the Queen. She was like a hummingbird – fleeting, beautiful, and unreachable, though I never knew a bird to have such a deceiving undertone in its hum. While I slept unsuspecting, they had crept artily down staircases and up turrets; her, quiet as a kitten in her dainty slippers, and him, loping and crafty as a panther. The thought of her fervent, eager eyes directed towards him angered and saddened me. I was cold to her at times, but at others, I wished I had the power to remove the smouldering brand of my nephew from her mind._

The tension we held with Tusaine was taut then; magistrates were purple under the eyes and no one worried about the individual – it was the country's strength that mattered. I, having heard suspicious tales from the spinsters and young wives around the palace, began to centre my observations on my nephew, Terroul, in the midst of a conflict. It was trying, but at first, the wisps of rumours never became substantial. He was chivalrous and polite as ever to me, and his mouth constantly widened in a smile. Amande, my Queen, fulfilled her royal duties and made herself acceptable to our country and the various delegates arriving. I had no reason to deduce anything scandalous from these actions. One night, however, I was woken by a horrid nightmare of war and violence – every ruler's dread. Opening an eye, I listened with the sense that usually becomes acute after experiencing an unpleasant dream – the dreams Gainel rips straight from Chaos. My ear caught the faint whisper of silk on sheets, and I sat up quickly and twisted to look at my other side. The mattress was dented with evidence of a body, but no such thing lay in the bed. Hastily but quietly I crept out of my immense chamber, and into the long hall. The carpet warmed my bare feet as my eyes adjusted and noticed a luminous white gown fluttering in front of me. The form was jaunty with anticipation, and my chest tightened with what I would see. I did not feel anger then, I was too preoccupied with what was happening, and too afraid of being seen. Her elegance grew as she neared the white door with the aged-gold knob, and I knew she was going to turn away from it – but with the neatest twist of her slender fingers, she pushed it open. My chest heaved, and I tried not to cry out in disbelief.

These were Terroul's chambers, and the Queen had dared – chosen – to cross his threshold. At first I did not absorb it; I could only focus on how to conceal myself. Near the entrance, a thick pillar stood, as if guarding me from their shameful union. I quickly stepped behind it, my clothes barely rustling the stone. The Queen, innocent as a dove, bound to a relation of the King's? No; one morning, just as a greeting, she had kissed me so tenderly on the cheek I barely felt it. She told me, "We shall love each other," before she slipped away, her scent trailing after her. My arms were tense with surprise and happiness, and I had almost followed the verbena. The notion was given up, and my arousals were kept locked in a box. If only I had unleashed them. Small tears of anger forced themselves from my eyes as I bitterly shifted to glimpse her. She sat poised on a chair, listening quietly, as Terroul began to play the harp; he was leaning toward Amande. Seeing a close relation of mine make advances to my wife was incomprehensible. It went against everything – the essence of royal connection was tainted with betrayal. I noticed how careful he was with her though, as if something was holding them back, preventing them from being completely absorbed. Pulling from Amande, he struck a haunting chord, and blended more together, until even I felt a chill under my silk robe. The Queen began to cry softly, and buried her head in her gown. "It's the future," Terroul told her. He caressed her shoulders as he shook. "It's the future."

I was enraged, of course, as I slunk out of the chambers, but it was more of a building fury, and I did not feel it until morning. The sheets were cold and lacked comfort as I slid into them; now I _knew _I was alone. Lighting was dim, and nothing lay in the room for me to observe but the evidence of our supposed relationship staring me in the eyes. I shut them.

The punishment was decided for them both. Amande would be condemned to burn at the stake, and _he _would hang by the neck until dead. My eyes were bleary, my hair ruffled, my clothes disheveled as I walked out onto the rippling grass. She was thrashing at the pole; there were red welts on her arms from the ropes restraining her. The guards tightened their circle around the area, concealing the stake. His skin white against his bonds, Terroul tried to twist himself to glance at her, but she was heavily surrounded. The Queen began to weep as the magistrate announced their deaths; it was a vibrating echo in the silent yard. I felt a twinge of sadness and regret as I looked at her contorted face. To him I felt as if a strong tie had been severed: I _had _been like a father to him. A father whose visions of a blissful marriage were ruined at the hands of his now distant son.

It seemed as if we would stand there forever, among ageing fabric, sweat, and held-back tears. He hung, and hung. Beads rolled down his face, and his breathing became laboured. I turned away; I was watching my nephew die a slow death. She wept, and wept, until her voice became hoarse and then her screams became silent. My stare wavered and finally disconnected from her writhing body – that was cruel. The flames were singeing her fragile skin and I did not try to stop it. People began to wail and plead and the audience as a whole twisted the other way. I was abandoned, so I bowed my head. My eyes studied the robe's fabric. Fine threads of red, mahogany, a dark orange, all weaved into one fascinating – a loud snap interrupted my classifications of colour, and followed by that, uproar. Terroul had Amande in his arms... he had escaped the noose. Men were running after him uselessly, shouting and raising their fists. Uselessly, I say, because he's faster than a full-grown stallion. The fire burned hungrily, longing for a victim, because the Queen was gone, and so was my passive vulnerability. Could the fire feed on it now? The anger tore at me, I was being disregarded, ignored, and stepped on! Wretched desires of two young lovers had ruined my life, and it was being ruined again by their driving needs. My horse was waiting, kicking dust in the air. Blindly I gripped the saddle horn, hoisted myself up, and rode into the forest. I think I overused my spurs.

I found them shortly after. They were sitting on a fallen tree, holding onto each other pathetically, as if grasping lifelines. They saw me straightaway, but how could they not, when their eyes darted back and forth like fish in a net? I bore down on them until the horse could have breathed its foul breath into their noses.

"Uncle, I – "

"You were not invited to speak." My voice rose with the next statement. "Tell me why you ruined your reputation – which is as valuable to the kingdom as a robe is to a mage – and then leave my presence!"

"I can't, Uncle." He trembled slightly but his voice was calm.

"Do not address me that way," I snapped, "And if you are incapable, I shall ask your…" I trailed off, daring him to finish my sentence.

He didn't take the dare. Amande's hands were crossed on her lap, and her eyes were cast down, rather like a timid doe's. With horrid anticipation, sure she was going to deny me, my demeanor became arrogantly expectant. "Tell me."

"No." Her voice was a whisper.

I had been right to suppose that response. "Ha! Neither of you will! So," I said, lowering my voice, "I have a proposition to make."

"What is it, Your Majesty?" Terroul asked warily, seeing that my reason was back in place of my rage.

"You will hand me my wife." I paused for effect. "And you will leave the kingdom. Only then shall I let you go free."

Terroul stiffened, his face became bland – a look many wear when their mind is ravaged with internal war. I enjoyed watching him suffer as Amande looked on, biting her lip, pale hands hanging as if wilted. "Go on," I prompted mercilessly. My wrath was building once again as I processed the reality of the situation. _"Think."_ I heard him make a strangled choking noise as he mounted his horse, sucking in his breath as if he had received a wound. He fumbled with the saddle as he urged the mare forward.

"_No –" _Amande attempted to run after him but she lurched and tripped on her multiple petticoats. With impossible queenly grace, she tumbled into the dirt. As I leaned over her, I shook my head in mock regret. I wished she had been taught that refinement would not solve everything. She only lay, tears cascading onto the ground, as I looked once more at Terroul riding away, leaving his lover (yes, I did acknowledge her as such – _his_) and uncle in the dust.

_Two Weeks after Terroul's Banishment from My Palace_

_(A Common Interaction)_

Life was bland. I had no co-ruler, and that coward still held her captive with his false but soothing words of love. The memories were torturing her and taking her farther away from me. My resentment toward her was making me resent everyone. By me showing a lack of respect to my council members, I lost admiration in their eyes. It was a vicious political cycle that I desperately wanted to rip myself out of, but I couldn't because I was a king. A king married to a queen that was slowly wasting away.

The table was endlessly long, and I had to strain to see Amande as she daintily ate the morning meal. I was studying her sunken cheeks; the dry, peeling lips; the red, puffed eyes. I was merely observing her decline in beauty since her own love had corrupted her. I felt no sympathy. We were silent toward each other since he left, but she was far from hushed in the chambers. Her maids constantly scurried to and fro, faithfully bringing handkerchiefs and cold water to her side. I had not moved an inch nearer to her in comfort, I only showed hostility.

Amande fiddled with her fork as she fussed with pale blonde hair that was now in disarray. "Your Majesty?"

"Yes?"

"I – I shall retire to my rooms, if you would permit it. I'm feeling rather feverish."

"Then by all means, retire," I replied, with a note of contempt in my voice. The Queen was being weak, and anyone, including an unknown enemy, could see her frailty.

"Thank you, Majesty." She swept a barely acceptable curtsy.

As she left the room in an air of utter failure, I took the liberty to shout, "Be presentable for the banquet tonight!"

I sat with a rather righteous expression on my face as I finished my breakfast. Out of the corner of my eye, I could see the Queen's maids as they fought to hide reproachful glares. I could already sense the overloaded gossip in the servants' quarters of my heartlessness (which made me ask myself, considering gestures and expressions designed to show loyalty, if they were really being faithful to Amande. They knew about what she had done, of course. Gossip travels around the palace like the drafts in the courtrooms. Would they stand by a treasonous queen?).

_Seven Months after Terroul's Ejection from My Home_

The port was good, and I idly stirred it with my finger. As I sipped it, I glanced at the Queen, who had more of a bloom back in her face and her posture was less drooped. She was talking quietly to one of her ladies-in-waiting, saying that she required no extra handkerchiefs. I raised an eyebrow at her and went back to my glass. Without the knowledge of my noticing, she often glanced at me, in hopes of repairing a breach that she herself had created. I hardly believed that she had let go of the man so quickly, the way she was behaving. I therefore assumed she had never really loved him and had switched her loyalties when he abandoned her, or that it was a silly attempt of forgiveness that she could never hope to attain. My stony exterior would be the only side of myself that she would be privileged to know, and I in turn would be familiar only with her recklessness and youthful expectance of my mercy. Finally, after fidgeting and taking unnecessarily small sips from her wine, the Queen stood up to prepare for the night. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw a small tear run jaggedly out of hers, as if not confident enough to course down her face.

In our chamber the next week, as we lay in our separate beds, my eyes closed. The moonlight filtered across the lids, making it nearly impossible to fall asleep. Fitfully I turned my pillow around again and beat it.

"Farad?"

I bristled. Ironically, I gave her the least liberty concerning how I am addressed. "Your Majesty."

She seemed to wither under my barely concealed annoyance, and resumed propriety. "Your Majesty?" she repeated.

"Yes?"

To her, I must have seemed satisfied, for she went on. "Will you … accept me – as your wife?"

I was silent for a moment, unable to think. When she began to waiver, I choked out an answer. "You dare – _dare_ – ask me this in our bedchamber, where a man and woman are most intimate, after what you've done to me?" My voice shook with anger and the constricting feeling in my throat.

"You – you don't understand – "

"_You do not have the capacity to see the impact you have made on me._ You _slept _with my godforsaken nephew, you severed his relationship with me, you ruined the kingdom, and you lied to my face."

Her eyes were immense as she opened her mouth to respond. I raised a hand to stop her. It pained me to see her think about what she'd done when she should have done it months ago. _"Get out." _Tears of frustration and built-up emotion welled in my eyes, and I did not try to wipe them away.

Amande sagged visibly and her mouth twisted to keep from crying out in my presence. She tightened the sash on her gown, as if to hold herself upright, and left the room.

I breathed shakily, and bit my lip to stop the sobs that she would hear as she walked through the halls. I had finally cracked my statuesque image – these emotions were not new, but I had at last revealed them.

_A Year after Terroul's Exile from My Life_

_In the Sixteenth Year of the Reign of King Farad II_

_303 H.E._

_I was out hunting that morning; it was beautiful and warm under the artificially blue sky. The Queen and I had established (or rather, I had established) that we would go our separate ways. She would sew placidly in the drawing room and do her duties while I jousted, drank, and hunted – a life I had stopped living for two years. The life of a man without another ruler by his side, of a man without a crutch to keep him stable, of a man untouched by a woman's effects. I was careless and in denial, and I knew it, as I took the hawk out while it was half-asleep, and watched it plummet to the ground unable to move. I knew it as I dismissed a member of council without reason. _

_Fitting an arrow to the bow, I had it poised on a rabbit unawares when a courier's footsteps startled it into the thicker part of the trees. "What?" I asked savagely, in the voice of a hunter that had lost his kill._

_"A letter, Your Highness."__ I shifted in the saddle and held out my hand._

_He passed it to me in a lightning-quick exchange, and bowed. "Thank you, Highness."_

_I grunted and sliced open the envelope with my pocketknife. "You may leave," I urged the courier. Bringing the paper close to my face, I read the contents, as follows:_

Your nephew was fatally wounded in Tusaine. Send her quickly_._

_'Send her quickly'. He wanted to catch her alone, that was it. He had the nerve to reignite his own affair by way of a false letter. Was his goal to force me to commit an act of disgrace by sending her while we were still married? I would not doubt it. However, we were entirely separate, connected only by seemingly meaningful vows. They revealed but flimsy cotton if you tore off the silk. If she wished to go, who was I, a man so unattached to the woman, to stop her?_

_I watched her leave in the carriage the next evening. She dragged herself forward, as if bound to a chain, awaiting her doom. I did not know if I would ever see her again, if the chain would ever be broken. As I stiffly handed her up, she put her trembling arm on my shoulder; her brown eyes looked haunted. "Goodbye."_

* * *

><p><em>The Occasional Entries of Amande<em>

_Tyra, Tyra_

_16 February, 302 H.E._

Journals live on confessions, do they not? Treasonous ones are no exception: Tonight, I felt a pain, a searing pressure, in my chest as I looked at His Highness Terroul across the table. I noted his features for the first time, in a way a woman looks at a man when she is crossed in love. This is alien – I am confused and angry. Nothing could have led me to think of him that way; this is not me. My loyalties lie with Farad, Farad whom I've never met, and it is unjust to stray from him.

As I undressed, I noticed that my clothes smelled of pomegranate. I shall have to tell the maid not to spray perfume on my dresses.

_Tyra, Tyra_

_18 April, 302 H.E._

I cried. It was turbulent, too turbulent. I knew what it felt to be consumed by love. Pain, and hollow exhilaration, is all I ever experienced. His lips, soft and captivating, touched mine, and his eyes, dark passion, feverishly analysed my own. I, with literal need, wrapped my arms around his neck, lost and in a haze. He breathed; the scent of crisp air blew across my face.

_21 April, Being a Recount of the Night of 20 April_

We met again that night. He talked to me, reasonably, and I was glad of the conversation. His measured remarks made me think he had acquired a grip on himself. I was relieved, and yet a lingering damp descended. Gently, he asked a question, and I began to respond when he rushed toward me, his body pressed against mine. Gripping my dress in a plea, a boorish plea, he began to unlace it. Only a thin hum of revulsion tainted my undiluted desire, and I relented.

It was toxic, I could not bear it, and it was then I felt myself leave my person: I was slipping.

_Tyra, Tyra_

_15 November, 302 H.E._

I feel free. My head no longer hurts from crying, and my handkerchiefs are in the chest-of-drawers. I love him less; as he grows distant he is forgotten, as he forgot me. The king is unbearably cold and quiet, but he is gentle with the members of the palace. It is like opening a window – like rebirth. If only the king knew the transitions I am going through, he might recognize me again. But I deserve this coldness and isolation.

_Tyra, Tyra_

_21 February, 303 H.E._

_The burden is weighing me down once more, and the smell of spice is in all I breathe. Shadows are enveloping me, and all I see is Terroul – in my mind's eye, in mirrors, in Farad! It's pulling me toward him, and I have to leave. I know that I will never see the king again, the force is too strong. I must abandon the freshness around me, and meet my lover once more in the dust and desert, wound, to die there._


End file.
